Storm and Silence

by Robert Thier

  ‘Not quite,’ he said drily, and in so calm a voice it made me want to strangle him. ‘Climb over there. Quick.’

  Jumping over the front wall of the cart, he landed on something solid - wood, not the stone of the tunnel floor, I could tell from the sound his shoes made. He gestured for me to follow. Looking over the edge of the cart’s metal wall, I saw that it didn’t actually end at what I had taken to be the front wall. There was a flat, wooden extension, a kind of platform, attached to the front, and in the middle of the platform there was a construction that looked like a strange sort of metal see-saw.

  The only difference from a see-saw was, it didn’t have seats at the ends. Instead, it had wooden handles, one of which Mr Ambrose was already holding.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he asked. ‘Grab hold, and let’s get going!’

  ‘Get going with what?’ I demanded, though I already had an inkling.

  ‘Grab the other handle and start moving it up and down,’ he ordered. ‘This isn’t just a mining cart. It’s a draisine.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A draisine. You move it by it by moving the handles up and down.’

  ‘You mean you want to try and escape the murderous hordes that are chasing us by pumping up and down?’

  ‘Essentially, yes.’

  ‘You must be joking!’

  He considered this. ‘No,’ he stated. ‘In fact, I’m quite at liberty to be serious. Which I am in general, and in particular at the moment.’

  ‘You don't say.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Now get moving, Mr Linton.’

  I opened my mouth to argue - then, I heard the screech of another mining cart, not far behind us. However much I might have liked to argue - there was no time. Quickly, I grabbed the other end of the see-saw and, immediately, Mr Ambrose began to move up and down at a prodigious rate. The cart - or draisine, rather - shuddered, and then began to move forward at a leisurely pace. I felt as if we were sitting in an old ladies’ carriage, with a tame old horse in front, so the venerable grandmother wouldn’t get jostled.

  ‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’ I panted.

  ‘Of course it can,’ was Mr Ambrose’s reply. ‘If you move faster.’

  And he picked up the pace. It was all I could do to try and follow his movements and not dangle off at the end like a sack of potatoes. I doubt I contributed much to our forward thrust. Nevertheless, sweat soon began running down my forehead.

  ‘Don’t shove the lever upwards like that,’ Mr Ambrose commanded. ‘It comes up automatically on your side when I push down. We have to move in turns. First you push down, then I, then you again.’

  From then on, we alternated in the movement, and I had to bear half of the burden. As we moved along at an agonizing pace, we could hear the soldiers slowly coming closer behind us. They didn’t seem to have nearly as much trouble as we with getting their draisine moving.

  Well, they probably don't eat as much solid chocolate as you do, said a nasty little voice in my head. And, oh yes, all that soldiering they do, that running around and marching with heavy packs on their shoulders all day long, that probably doesn't hurt either…

  Gritting my teeth, I swore to myself to take more regular walks in the park. Maybe if I had done that, maybe if my behind wasn’t so… generous, I wouldn’t feel as if my lungs were bursting now.

  ‘You’re not up for this,’ Mr Ambrose stated in a calm tone, not interrupting his rapid movement for a second. ‘You are already exhausted.’

  ‘I’m fine!’

  ‘You do too little exercise, Mr Linton. Your figure…’

  ‘There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with my figure!’ I snapped. ‘I said I’m fine. I do plenty of exercise!’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Um… walks in the park?’

  ‘How long? How fast?’

  I felt my ears heat. About ten minutes long, slowly back and forth between the bench and the duck pond. But he didn’t need to know that. ‘Do you want me to talk or to move, Sir?’

  He narrowed his eyes a little more, but didn’t say anything else. He just kept moving, and so did I, hoping fervently that the red colour of my face came from my exertion, and not from his remarks about my personal appearance. What in heaven’s name had he been going to say about my figure?

  Probably that you’re fat, the tiny voice in my mind whispered. I told it to shut up and help me move. Somehow, I would manage! I would get through this alive! And then I would start exercising until I was strong enough to handle a draisine, and to strangle Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

  I had just reached that resolution when we came to the foot of the hill.

  It started slowly, so slowly I hardly noticed at first. The cart tilted slightly, and my arms, which had already been screaming before, were now howling in agony. At first I thought it was just the exhaustion, but the rise became steeper and steeper, until I finally realized: we were going up a hill.

  ‘Bloody… hell! This has to be… the slowest chase in the… history of the world!’

  ‘Shut up and push, Mr Linton!’

  On the plus side: the hill turned out to only a small one. On the minus side: after it came another, and another, and another. God! Wasn't this ever going to stop? My fingers were raw from the rough wood of the handle, and all thoughts of what Mr Ambrose thought of my figure had left me. I couldn’t think of anything, anymore. There was just the next push, the next turn of the wheel.

  Finally, I collapsed onto the wooden platform. My arms felt like burning splints of tinder, my clothes were drenched in sweat, and my last piece of strength was gone. I couldn’t move an inch.

  ‘Get up,’ Mr Ambrose’s voice commanded from somewhere above me. ‘You can’t keep the cart moving if you’re lying on the floor, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Geez… you don’t… say!’

  ‘Yes, I do say. Get up!’

  ‘I… I can’t.’ The voice that came out of my throat didn’t sound like my own. It was the croak of some half-starved crow. ‘I… can’t. I’m sorry.’

  Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t very moved by my apology.

  ‘I order you to get up, Mr Linton!’

  ‘Oh, go stick it where the sun doesn’t shine!’

  There was a pause. Then:

  ‘I knew it.’ The ice in his voice sent a chill down my back. ‘I knew this would happen sooner or later. You’re nothing but a weak, feminine girl! A man in your place wouldn’t-’

  He broke off. But he didn’t need to finish the sentence. I could imagine its ending all too well. Suddenly, energy surged through me. Not strength, no, but something even better: anger!

  ‘A man would what?’ I snapped, raising my eyes from the floor to glare at him. He just shook his head.

  ‘Forget it, Mr Linton. It doesn't matter anymore.’ Letting go of the see-saw, he stepped back, his expression stoic. He wasn’t even looking at me! He was gazing off into the distance, his mouth set in a resigned line. He was giving up! Giving up because I was a girl!

  ‘It bloody well does!’

  With a gut-wrenching effort, I scrambled to my feet and grabbed hold of the wooden handle. ‘Where’s your stomach? Get hold of that handle and start moving! We’re not beaten yet! Not by a long shot!’

  He observed me for a moment through slightly narrowed eyes, as I stood there, legs shaking, hands clasped around the handle.

  ‘But you’re too weak to do this. You said so yourself.’

  ‘I? I never said anything of the sort! Let’s get going!’

  Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. I blinked. Had I seen right? Could that have been the shadow of a smile? But no! Why would he smile? What was there to smile about, here and now?

  ‘All right… If you’re sure you can handle it…’

  I had to be mistaken! Rikkard Ambrose never smiled.

  ‘Yes, I’m bloody sure! What are you waiting for?’

  Another moment of silence passed. Then he gave a curt nod and abruptly took hold of the ot
her end of the see-saw once more.

  ‘Well, if you insist, Mr Linton.’

  He shoved down so hard it nearly lifted me off my feet. I gathered all my strength and pushed, and let loose, and pushed, and let loose. From then on, I kept up, although the pace he set nearly killed me. I wouldn’t give up again for anything, not after what he had said! Ha! Weak, feminine girl indeed…!

  We were already halfway up the hill when it occurred to me that he might have said that on purpose, just to get me off the floor and moving again. But no… He didn’t know me that well, did he?

  Yes, he does, that little annoying voice whispered in my ear.

  I told it to shut up and help my aching arms.

  I pushed and pulled and pushed. But although I gave it my best effort, we still were only moving as fast as an old lady’s carriage drawn by a horse with two lame legs. I estimated our stunning speed at about one mile per hour. Fortunately, the soldiers behind us seemed to have troubles, too. To judge by the voices I heard echoing behind me in the tunnel, there appeared to be more than two of them on the draisine, and the added weight was making it difficult for them to get up the latest hillside.

  But that didn’t make my burning arms feel any better.

  ‘Mr… Ambrose?’ I gasped.

  ‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Next time… you pick a cart to flee on, Sir… pick one that is steam-engine driven!’

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes… Sir?’

  ‘Be quiet and move faster!’

  ‘Yes… Sir!’

  From behind us came the boom of a shot. I nearly dropped the handle and threw myself to the floor.

  ‘Don’t!’ Mr Ambrose commanded. ‘They can’t hit us! The metal container shields us from any gunfire!’

  ‘As long as… they’re behind us.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happens… when they realize that they… could probably catch up… by jumping off and… running after us?’

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes… Sir?’

  ‘One of the advantages of being silent is not giving your enemies any ideas while they might be in hearing distance. Now be quiet!’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’

  *~*~**~*~*

  It was about five minutes later, and we were just struggling up another slope, when we heard the sound of heavy footsteps behind us.

  Mr Ambrose shot me a dark look. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His look said it all: faster!

  Another shot whistled over my head. And another, and another! The last one came so close that I could feel the air move as it whizzed past. Then came the sound of panting, and I knew they were catching up. Quickly, I risked a glance over my shoulder.

  There they were! Halfway up the hill, only a few dozen yards behind us. The red and gold of their uniforms shimmered menacingly in the light of the torches they carried, the steel of their rifles adding another deadly colour to the mix of blood-red and gold. They were three in number, and were dashing forward at a dead run. One of them in particular, a slim-built fellow who looked as if he were used to running from Bristol to Bath and back again every morning before breakfast, seemed intent on sinking his claws into us. He was catching up fast.

  ‘We'll never get away from them,’ I panted. ‘They’ll get us!’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ was Mr Ambrose’s cool reply. ‘Not if we make it to the top of the hill in time.’

  ‘How…?’

  ‘Be quiet and move! Faster!’ And he started shoving down the handle twice as fast as before. Now, even his breathing sounded a little laboured. A single drop of sweat appeared on his chiselled forehead and ran down the side, disappearing into his collar.

  Ha! So he is human after all, not some inanimate statue into which the God of Mammon has breathed life by accident!

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t a living statue either. My tortured, aching muscles made my humanity all too clear to me. Gripping the handle more tightly so my slippery hands wouldn’t lose their grip on it, I tried to keep up with his insane tempo.

  Think of Joan of Arc, I told myself. She threw an entire invasion of men out of her country! And you are going to be defeated by a stinking mining cart? What are you? A baby?

  Well, at the moment I definitely felt like lying down and crying.

  Blinking the sweat out of my eyes, I stared past Mr Ambrose and, in the dim light of the torches that our pursuers carried, could make out a dark black outline rising above us. The top of the hill? I couldn’t tell. It seemed miles away yet, but in the gloom, distances were impossible to gauge. Behind us, the sound of panting breath was growing louder.

  ‘Stop!’ The shouted command from behind me came so suddenly, and sounded so near, it nearly made my heart jump out of my chest. ‘Stop or we'll shoot!’

  How very kind of you to warn us… Of course, you have already shot at us, so it’s not much of a warning, but still, very thoughtful.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ hissed Mr Ambrose.

  ‘Of course not! What do you take me for? An idiot?’

  Silence. Very meaningful silence.

  ‘Well, thanks so much!’ I growled.

  ‘I did not say anything, Mr Linton.’

  ‘You didn’t have to, Sir! You were thinking loud and clear.’

  ‘Just keep moving, Mr Lin-’

  The crack of a shot cut off his words brutally. It was so loud, so terribly near now that my ears stung from the impact of the sound. Mr Ambrose’s eyes burned into mine, and again I could read the same message in them: Faster! Faster!

  And I did move faster. Up and down and up and down - the repetitive movement sent shocks of pain up my tired arms and down my back. I kept going, but didn’t know how long it would be before I collapsed again. Even my thoughts of Joan of Arc didn’t comfort me anymore. Surely, beating an army of men had to be easier than this? There probably was some way to just hoodwink the stupid fools into falling on their own swords. But a mine cart… a mine cart was devious, and unrelenting. Up, down, up, down-

  And then, we were suddenly rolling forward easily, and I nearly fell forward as the cart began to gather speed, without any help from me, and plunged downwards.

  Yes!

  ‘We’ve done it! Let go, Mr Linton! Let go!’

  I couldn’t. My hands were glued to the handle, my eyes half-closed with exhaustion. Another pair of hands gripped mine and slowly pried them loose. ‘Let go! We have to lie down! Now!’

  Lie down? But why?

  The answer to my question came a second later, when two shots echoed through the tunnel. Something heavy collided with me, throwing me to the floor and landing on top of me. Something - no, somebody familiar. Mr Ambrose.

  ‘They’re shooting,’ he told me in his cool, precise tone. ‘They have a better angle now, from above. Stay absolutely still.’

  Oh no, I plan on running a marathon! After all, I feel so rested right now.

  I didn’t say anything, though. I couldn’t have moved a muscle if I had wanted to, not even my lips. And I didn’t want to, really. To lie on the rough wood, his arms wrapped tightly around me, felt very comfortable for some reason.

  But why is he lying on top of you?

  Good question. It was almost as if he were shielding me from the gunfire. But that couldn’t be. That was something only the heroes in penny dreadfuls did if they happened to be in love with the heroine…

  The next shot sounded farther away. The one after that could hardly be heard. We were gathering speed now - I could feel it from the wind rushing past us, tickling my face. We were really getting away! Really and truly!

  ‘Why…’ My voice sounded like a crow with a cold. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘Why aren’t they following us?’

  ‘Oh, they will, eventually’ Mr Ambrose said in a dry tone. ‘But they jumped off their cart halfway up the last hill, in order to run after us. It will have rolled downhill by now. They’ll have to push it up all the way before they can follow us. That will take
time. We have a good head start.’

  There was a last, faint echo of a gunshot, but even I, with my limited knowledge of firearms, knew it didn’t have a hope of hitting us anymore. We were much too far away by now, the darkness gathering around us. The distant red flicker of torches subsided into grey gloom, and then the grey turned to black, and the last noises of our pursuers faded. All noise faded, except for the song of wheels on the rails, the whistling of the wind in my hair, and Mr Ambrose’s breathing. We were alone. We should get up and try to find a light, try to find out where we were, maybe. We should definitely get out of this embarrassing position, Mr Ambrose lying on top of me, his arms pressing me to the floor. Yes, that was definitely something we should do.

  But then, why didn’t he get up?

  Why don’t you get up yourself, Lilly? You still have two arms and two legs, don’t you?

  I checked, just to make sure. Yes, all the necessary limbs were still attached, and hurting like hell. He might be lying on top of me, but I could have pushed him away, or tried to slide out from under him, or said something to him. Yet I did not. I simply lay there, his body pressing against mine in a way that made me ache to pull him even closer and put my arms around him. I could feel his breath on my cheek. He was so close. Almost close enough to ki-

  ‘We should get up,’ he said. His voice sounded strange, rough even. It still was his usual cool tone, and yet, it wasn’t.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed.

  Neither of us moved.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘What are you waiting for, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Um… excuse me, Sir, but what are you waiting for? You are the one lying on top.’

  On top of me - the second time in a row! But I didn’t dare say these words aloud. They made heat rush to my face just thinking them. Was it just coincidence that we always seemed to end up like this?

  ‘Well? I asked. ‘What are you waiting for, just wasting time lying here? Knowledge is power is time is money, isn’t it?’

  He was silent for a moment.

  ‘You remembered, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’ Before I knew what happened, my hand had reached out and touched his face. Bloody traitorous limb! ‘You’re a very memorable man.’